Island of Bones(91)

Blood. A dark pool of it in a tangle of white sheets. Then he saw Angela, lying on the small bed curled on her side, her face to the wall. She was wearing a thin white gown, but it was pulled up, exposing her from the waist down. Her buttocks and thighs were streaked with blood.

Louis couldn’t see her face, just her hair, a tangled damp mess. Her bloody fingers clutched the sheet, bunching it to her chest.

Animals...he should have just shot the fuckers where they stood.

A low moan.

She was still alive. Barely, but alive and trembling. He touched her shoulder and she cringed, drawing away.

“Angela?”

She drew in a quick breath at the sound of his voice.

“Angela Lopez?”

She turned her head toward him slowly. Her eyes lit up with fear and she tried to sit up, but she couldn’t find the strength in her arms.

He set down the lantern and moved to help her, but she pulled back. “No, no, don’t touch me. Leave me alone,” she whimpered.

Louis put up his hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was trying to cover herself with the bloody sheet. She was so pale, her dark hair plastered to her face with sweat. And she was looking at him with terror, as if he had come to kill her, not save her.

“I heard something,” she said. “Rafael? Is he all right?”

Something was wrong here. She was lying in a pool of blood, but he couldn’t see a mark on her. And why was she asking about Rafael?

“Rafael...is my husband all right?”

Husband? His eyes went to her left hand. She was wearing a coral ring.

He heard a weird sound. It sounded muffled, weak, almost like a cat. His eyes moved to the bunched-up sheet between Angela and the wall. He reached down. She grabbed his wrist.

“No,” she said, “please, please.”

He eased her wrist from his hand and pulled back the sheet.

A small red body squirmed in the bloody folds. Tiny, white-knuckled hands trembled in the air.

Jesus. It was a baby.

Louis looked at Angela. She reached weakly for her baby and gathered it to her chest. The pool of blood under her was spreading.

“Angela,” Louis said, “we’ve got to get out of here.”

She shook her head, pulling the child closer.

He had to get her out of here now. He bent and tried to pick them both up, but she twisted from him, whimpering.

“Look,” Louis said, glancing at the door, “these people are crazy. They’re going to kill you.”

She was trying to get away from him, inching toward the wall. He knew she was afraid of him, that she couldn’t make any distinction between him and the others.

“Angela,” Louis said softly. “Angel.”

Her eyes came up to his.

“Angel. Rosa sent me. She wants you to come home.”

“Rosa?” she whispered. “Rosa?”

He sensed a lessening in her tension. Maybe she was just on the verge of passing out. He didn’t care. He picked her up, bringing her body tightly against his chest. He pulled her away from the bed, the sheets dragging behind. She wrapped her arms around her baby and let him carry her to the screen door. He kicked it open.

Landeta was standing by the porch, gun drawn. “Louis? Jesus, is that her?”

“Yeah. She’s still alive.” Louis hoisted Angela up to get a better grip. The baby let out a cry.

“What the fuck?” Landeta said. “What the hell is —-”

“She had a baby,” Louis said. “I’ve got them both.”

“A baby! Jesus H Christ.”

Louis was frantically scanning the dark, but he still didn’t see any of the del Bosque men —- or Frank. They needed to get back to the boat. Fast. His sleeves were already soaked with blood. When he looked back at Landeta he saw the police radio in his hand.

“Nothing, still nothing,” Landeta said.

Louis shifted Angela in his arms. “All right, we’re going back to the boat. Stay close behind me and keep your gun out. If I say shoot, shoot.”

At the fork in the path, Louis felt Landeta grab his arm.

“They’ll be looking for us if we go back this way,” he said.

Louis looked down at Angela’s face. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“Angel, can you hear me?” Louis asked.

Her eyes fluttered open and she clutched the baby tighter.

“Is there another way to the path that goes around the island?” Louis asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Talk to me, Angel. Is there another path?”

She drew her hand from under the sheet and pointed left. He saw no path, just trees and brush.

“I can’t take you through there,” he said.

Her hand waved toward the thicket.

“Go through the trees?” he asked.